Butterflies
by wanderingwidget
Summary: COMPLETED!!! I went and finished it, finally, so come and read it. Aliens who would be gods, butterflies with an agenda, an evil red light and life goes on.
1. What the heck?

Title: Butterflies  
  
By: Bran Black  
  
Rating: PG-13 (later chapters may change to R)  
  
Summary: First person fic, from Jack's pov. Vertigo, cold water, and tangoing wildlife. Need I say more?  
  
Disclaimer: they're not mine, but we know this. If they were mine I would be writing the scripts, and not fanfic. Sob, sob.  
  
Chapter One  
  
There are reasons I drink so much, you know. Lots and lots of reasons. Very important, large, and angsty reasons. The fact that I can't remember any of these important reasons right at this moment in no way diminishes the fact that they are there. I sure that as soon as I get over this hangover, and the nausea, and the hallucinations, and the- We won't go there. Anyway, I'm sure that I'll eventually remember all of those important reasons that I know I have for drinking. I am equally sure that, as soon as I remember them, I will promptly get smashed, again.  
  
How many days has it been now?  
  
Let's see, Daniel dropped me off once Janet released us. My truck was in the shop, again. That was, um, who gives a shit? Anyway, I remember that he was looking at me funny the whole way home, like he thought I was a lunatic with a bomb strapped to his chest. So, maybe, he might have had a good reason for looking at me like that. I vaguely seem to recall an episode, off world, where I might have declared myself the Supreme Commander of the Universe, but what can you expect? I was surrounded by trees and grass for two weeks. TWO WEEKS! Hammond figured that we needed a break, what with us saving the world umpteen billion times in the last month. Unfortunately, we didn't have any leave left. We'd used it all up chasing a certain anthropologist/ archaeologist, who shall remain nameless, across the length and breadth of Egypt. That boy cannot stay out of trouble, even on a simple dig.  
  
Anyways, where was I? Oh, yeah, trees and grass. Purple trees and yellow grass. Yellow grass that glowed all night. How the heck do you expect a man to sleep when he's surrounded by neon grass? Damn rude, if you ask me. I'm gonna have to complain to management about that.  
  
Oh management, what's the big idea, huh? Are you trying to turn me into a raving psychotic? Well, if you are, it's working. Except now I'm a drunk raving psychotic. Excuse me.  
  
. . .  
  
Correction, make that nauseas and hung over raving psychotic. What I wouldn't give for a sledgehammer right now. That clock's ticking is killing my head. I lift my head off of the floor and glare at it. It reads: PISSED in large red letters. It's a digital clock. Digital clocks don't tick, but who gives a damn. But, come to think of it, what the hell am I doing on the floor? I don't remember deciding to get to know it this well. 'Course, I'm not remembering a whole hell of a lot at the moment.  
  
Especially not Charlie.  
  
Or Iraq.  
  
Or anything having to do with anyone with a snake in their heads.  
  
Or anything at all.  
  
Really.  
  
I think that it's time for another drink, or two. I try to push myself up off of the floor, but the floor doesn't cooperate, it starts bucking and yawing like a damn bronco at the rodeo. I am not, nor have I ever been, a cowboy. Horses scare me. Only idiots and suicidal nutcases get up on top of a crazy animal like that of their own free will. I am neither an idiot, or suicidal, contrary to popular opinion.  
  
Of course, if the floor doesn't quit dancing, I may be willing to reconsider my stance on the latter.  
  
* * *  
  
I wake up in the bathroom. More accurately, I wake up in the tub. Why do I wake up in the tub? I don't know, but it probably has something to do with the jets of ice-cold water beating into my face and neck. This is not helping my head, which is hurting like hell. Thank you very much. I try to scoot out of the spray, only to discover that someone's holding me under.  
  
I don't like being held down. I never have. Started when I was a kid, my four-month vacation in Iraq probably didn't help me any in that department. I reacted on instinct, ramming myself back against my captor. Whoever it was I couldn't see them, but they shouted, loudly, and let me go.  
  
Trying to stand up was a mistake. Mostly it was a mistake because I succeeded. Once I was upright the floor decided to do a little jig, just for me. I careened forward, over the edge of the tub and heading for the floor. Someone caught me, the same someone who'd been holding me under the water. They caught me, turned me around so that I was face up, and then sat me back in the tub.  
  
More cold water.  
  
I tried to fight, but they, whoever they were, were too strong. Besides, once my body adjusted to the temperature it wasn't that bad. Really. I sat there, being soaked in cold water, fully dressed by the way, and watched the miniature toads and rabbits do the tango between my bare feet.  
  
About then I passed out. Again.  
  
* * *  
  
The next time that I woke up I was in a car, wrapped in one of the blankets from my couch. I was lying on the back seat. I could see an empty road through the front windshield. When I tried to raise my head to get a better view the person in the passenger seat turned around. He was very large, wearing military issue clothes, with dark skin, and the edge of a gold oval peeking out from below a baseball cap.  
  
I know I know him. Really. I just, can't put the name with the face.  
  
"A cah orlight, ahnveal?" he asked, his voice deep and resonating. I felt my eyebrows snap together as I tried to puzzle out the meanings behind those sounds. This wasn't my kind of thing, you know. There was someone else who was supposed to do this. You know, figure out what people are saying. For the life of me I can't remember who they are, though.  
  
The driver turned around and glanced at me. He was wearing glasses. I knew him too, big surprise there. Couldn't remember who he was, though. Not a big surprise, either.  
  
"A cah, hahnoo sheremie?" he sounded concerned, but I couldn't understand what he was saying, it wasn't a language that I knew, that was for certain. Contrary to popular belief, I do know more than one language. More than two, even. The fact that I can't remember any of them at the moment has absolutely no sway over the fact that I know them. I do.  
  
I closed my eyes and tried to puzzle through the sounds. I knew that they had meanings, just like I knew that I knew those meanings, I just had to think! But, it was like my brain was full of fog, or someone had gone and snipped out my memory. I couldn't get the sounds to go together. I couldn't understand.  
  
The driver turned to the big black guy. "Keys owhahtet," the driver said, then turned back to the road.  
  
"Oodee telve seauwa ingrom tiefaco zeeal kohahel?" the black guy asked. The other man shrugged, shaking his head.  
  
"Rayz ersay edthea tuhehahed unanooz hauelk empahn et aemhith bvod," the driver replied. "Klin guhn handahak," he said, turning around to glance at me again. I tried to tell him with my eyes that I couldn't understand, and that my not understanding scared me, but he turned away, and then everything got black.  
  
A/N: the 'gibberish' is an actual dialogue; you just have to concentrate a little to understand it. Argh! I actually asked fanfic readers to think! Please read and review, if I get really nice ones I might be motivated to finish the next chapter.  
  
P.S: yes, this is procrastination. But I can't get the next installment of my series to crawl out of the recesses of my sub consciousness, yet, so I'm trying to work up to it. Don't loose hope, I'll do it, eventually ( 


	2. Bad Dreams

Chapter Two:  
  
I'm not hot, thank you very much, so would you mind getting me out of this goddamned tub now? I can think it, but I can't get the thoughts to turn into words. Though, come to think of it, my brain doesn't feel quite so useless anymore. It kinda feels like someone went rooting around in there and pulled out, oh about, half of the cotton which was stuffed in there. Now, about getting out of this tub.  
  
They put me in a large tub, full of cold water, and even colder ice. I'm sensing a theme here. Freeze the, uh, yeah. Freeze me to death, like that'll do any good. They tried that before, you know. Different theys though. I get the feeling that these guys, for all they're trying to give me hypothermia, don't really mean me any harm. The other guys meant me a lot of harm.  
  
Oh, yeah. LOTS and LOTS of harm. Evidenced by the many scars, somewhere, which I have. From the, yeah the uh, unpleasant things which were done to me. What was I thinking about? Suddenly all of that cotton came back and now I can't remember. God, but my head hurts. Talk about the worst hangover of your life. Thankfully, I shouldn't remember it. Heh-heh. Isn't that what they say? If you remember then it couldn't have been a hangover. Yeah.  
  
* * *  
  
There are people in the room. They're taking me out of the tub, hooray. I'd tried to get myself out but, let's just say that the laws of gravity and I are no longer on cordial terms. I recognize two of them from, somewhere. I vaguely remember the big black guy and the dweeb with the glasses in need of a haircut. Every time I get a glance of them I see flashes of the inside of a car, and hear gibberish.  
  
"Kernaol," a little redheaded lady in a white lab coat asks as they lay me on a stretcher and start moving me, somewhere. I know I should know her, just like I should know what she's saying, it sounds familiar, but I just can, oh fer cryin' out loud. She starts shining a light in my eyes, which does not help. A lot.  
  
"Haahak," someone, the dweeb in the glasses, says. "Kumahn, haahak. Ee kneaduh oo." He looks concerned. I feel my face contract again, in what I'm beginning to recognize as my 'confused' face. Just who the hell are you people? And what the hell are you trying to do to me. Speak . . .  
  
Well, speak whatever the hell it is that I speak. I know I speak a language. I have too, after all, I'm thinking. Aren't I?  
  
'Come on,' I think towards the large black guy. Trying to will him to understand. 'You guys have to start speaking something I know. Please.' Damn, if I'd known going on a weeklong bender would result in this I never would have done it. I would have restrained myself to a three day one. This reminds me too much of being in Iraq. At least there I understood most of what they were saying, though. Enough to know why they were torturing me anyway. Torture is not a pleasant thing. Avoid it at all costs. Really. You don't want to go there. You don't want to walk down an innocent bank of yellow grass and into a field of the stuff, you really don't.  
  
Because, because .  
  
Because they, they're there.  
  
And, because they'll get you, if you're not careful.  
  
Oh, Jesus. My head feels like someone just set of a claymore. Inside of it. Make that two, right behind my eyes. I think I'm shouting. I know everyone else is. People are running around and grabbing me. Why are they grabbing me?  
  
Oh.  
  
Because I'm convulsing. Good God this hurts.  
  
Then everything starts to go dark again, and the last thing I see before everyone disappears is the concerned face of a blond woman. Her mouth opens, moves, but by then I'm too far-gone to even hear the gibberish. And then everything goes black.  
  
* * *  
  
Dreaming.  
  
I'm dreaming. I'm standing in the middle of a field of waist high grass. The grass is bright, neon, yellow, and faintly glowing. It's dark out. I have a gun in my hand, and am debating whether or not to go any further into the field without backup.  
  
I'd heard something, that was why I was out here. It was my watch and I'd heard something, so I'd gone to investigate. I hadn't woken anyone up because it was 0130, and this was a cake run. The worst it could be was some local animal, drawn to the lovely scent of our MRE's. As far as I was concerned the critter could have them. The sooner we ran out of food, the sooner we'd go home. All the better.  
  
But. On the off chance that it was a slightly larger critter, in search of a slightly larger meal, I was going to check it out. And now I was in the field. Thinking that, maybe, I should have woken up Teal'c, because I was getting a bad feeling. When I get a bad feeling, it generally tends to mean that I'm about to have something nasty happen to me.  
  
Then they come for me. Rising out of the grass in a formless dance. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of them. Glinting blue and green in the yellowish light cast by the grass. In spite of the fact that they look totally harmless, that bad feeling just gets stronger. I force it down, resisting the urge to run away from a bunch of butterflies. What would my team think of me?  
  
Then they descend.  
  
A/N: here ya go kiddies, hope you enjoyed, please review. Chapter three should be up in a week or less. Hopefully. See ya soon. 


	3. Parrots

Chapter Three:  
  
The words 'overwhelming pain' do not cover it. Not in the least. They aren't even in the same stratosphere. They are way way far away. At this point overwhelming pain would be a comfort.  
  
My body keeps having these convulsions. One would think that, after a dozen or so of them, the pain would begin to dull. One would think that shock would be descending any moment now, with its wonderful numbing effects. One would be very, very wrong. If anything the pain is getting even worse.  
  
If there is a God, out there somewhere, then I must have managed to get myself onto his Top Ten Mortals to Torture Unbearably list. I'm guessing that I'm somewhere below Hitler and above whoever created Barney.  
  
Jesus.  
  
Every time they come, grabbing me, holding me down. Trying to keep me from hurting myself. Again, and again, and again. They aren't leaving me alone anymore. I think that they're afraid to.  
  
I'm tied down. I only notice it in between the convulsions. The pain from my torn and raw wrists and ankles are a delicate counterpoint to the continuous throb of a sorely abused body. That's another thing. Whatever the hell is going on my body is definitely not happy.  
  
This moves so far past a hangover, hell even withdrawal, that I'm running out of words.  
  
Words, I get the feeling that I never put much value to them before. Now, God. If only I had them. If only I could understand what was going on. What these people are trying to tell me. Why they are doing this.  
  
My muscles contract. Suddenly. No warning. Here we go again.  
  
Sirens sound, beeping, screaming. People shouting, grabbing me. And then, nothing.  
  
Fade to black, campers, thank God.  
  
* * *  
  
"Haahak, kumoanhaa hak. Weykahup."  
  
Someone is speaking gibberish, and pulling me up out of the bowels of unconsciousness. I open my eyes to a blinding light and quickly close them again. I'm revising my opinion of these people. They mean me harm. If they were my friends they would find a gun and blow my brains out. Please, God.  
  
"Haahak, weykahup."  
  
I open my mouth to say something, "Go away," but even to my ears it sounds wrong.  
  
"Vohahaiy."  
  
What is wrong with me?  
  
'Let me the fuck go.'  
  
"Veletmah thafu huhuk goh."  
  
The looks of confusion on their faces are easy enough to read. They don't understand what I'm trying to say, anymore than I understand what their words mean. Someone out there has a sick sense of humor.  
  
My muscles tense, and I clench my teeth. Anticipating yet another convulsion. More pain. More and more and more. A never ending assault on my nerve endings.  
  
But it never comes. I open my eyes. Everyone is smiling. And there's someone new. A old guy. Balding. Wearing a weird tan tunic and trousers.  
  
'Who the hell are you?'  
  
"Houda haheler revoo?"  
  
They mutter to themselves in their alien language. They sound pleased about something. That's okay, at the moment I'm pleased too. No convulsion equals a happy me.  
  
* * *  
  
I wasn't always happy. I know that. But, at the moment, I'm having a great deal of trouble remembering much before all of this began. I certainly don't know who the hell I am. Or how to communicate with these strangers who seem to know me, seem to care about me.  
  
They're milling about, most of them. The dork is sitting next to the bed, which I am no longer tied to, and talking.  
  
"Hahak, kahnoo undarstahande dahme?"  
  
He sees the confused look on my face. Stands up, walks over to the others. They mutter to low for me to hear them. Then he comes back. He points at me, exaggeratedly.  
  
"Hahak," he says. Then he points to himself. "Dahaniel."  
  
He points at me, and waits, and waits, and waits. Finally I catch on and mimic the sound back to him.  
  
"Hahak."  
  
He smiles, exaggeratedly, and I feel like a parrot who'd just preformed his first trick.  
  
* * *  
  
Eventually they leave me alone. The big black guy sticks around, sitting on the floor near the foot of the bed. His eyes are closed. I think he's asleep. But I can't sleep. Because I can remember one thing very clearly.  
  
The dream.  
  
And the last thing that I want to do is invite them back into my head. No way in hell that that's going to happen. No way in hell.  
  
A/N: so, like, hate, frustrated? Please review. Please, pretty please? Pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top? Pleeeeeez. ( 


	4. Language Barrier

Chapter Four:  
  
Damn, I'm tired. The red haired chick isn't helping any. She keeps shining that light in my eyes and talking to me. I don't understand what she's saying, other than what I presume is my name 'Hahak,' but I do understand the tone. She isn't happy with me. Why she's mad I don't know. But I do know that much.  
  
"Koronaeloo avet oohets ommsle eepuh," she says. Over and over again. The same sounds, the same tone. If I ever learn how to speak whatever language these people use I'm going to thank them, first, and then I'm going to cuss them out. Thoroughly.  
  
Now don't get me wrong. I'm grateful that they got rid of the seizures. Seizures are not fun. Really. But this treating the 'Hahak' like a little kid is getting kind of annoying. At the moment the only one of them that doesn't raise their voice when they're talking to me is the geek 'Dahaniel.' I'm not deaf. I just can't speak whatever freakish language you people are!  
  
Damn. The red head is coming towards me with a needle. I can guess what's in it. I really don't want to go to sleep. I don't care how long I've been awake, I am never going back to sleep.  
  
Uh-uh.  
  
I hop off of the bed and back away as she approaches. She stops, looks at me condescendingly. "Koronaeloon eeduh sleepah," she says. I don't understand it, but I understand that needle. I am not going to sleep.  
  
"No," I say.  
  
It comes out as "Nohah." It's one of the few words that Dahaniel has managed to successfully teach me. It doesn't sound right, but she seems to have gotten the message. She stops, brows furrowing.  
  
"Koronaelwiedo intooo wahantoos leap?" she asks. At least I assume it's a question, sounds like one anyway. I shake my head, back and forth, very emphatically. I don't know what she wants, but I'm not gonna let her stick that thing in me. No way in hell.  
  
"Hahak?" someone says off to my side. I turn, it's the geek.  
  
"Dahaniel," I say, I think he catches the sarcasm in my voice; at least he smiles, a little.  
  
"Oohates ronguh?" he asks, turning to the redhead. I listen, turning as well.  
  
"Eee wahontsleap," she says. "Hietri eyedtu gahive hahemah seahdahtiev bahatuh," she continued.  
  
Dahaniel turned to me. "Hahak?" he asked.  
  
I shake my head. "Nohah," I say, pointing to the needle in the redhead's hand. He waits, silently, for a further explanation, but I can't give him one. Not in any language he'll understand. I continue shaking my head. He continues waiting. Finally I cave in.  
  
"No sleep. Bad dreams," I say, trying to keep it simple. It comes out sounding like "Nohah ahslehap. Buhahduh reems."  
  
The red head wrinkles her forehead. Dahaniel closes his eyes, his lips moving silently. He looks like he's concentrating on something, so I decide to wait. Several minutes later his eyes pop open behind his glasses and he smiles, turning to the redhead.  
  
"Haheezah fahahraihdov nahahitema ars," he says.  
  
The wrinkles on the redhead's forehead disappear, but now she's got this concerned look in her eyes. I can only hope that Dahaniel got the right translation. She turns to me and says, loudly, "Koronaelwahie haroofah ahraihdovoor dahreems?" she asks.  
  
I throw my hands up, turn away, and begin cursing, in whatever fucking language it is that I speak and they don't. "Shit, fuck, damn, damn, damn," I mutter. It sounds like "Shahit fuhahukah, dahamm, dahamm, dahamm." I continue anyway, pacing around my corner of the, wherever the hell I am.  
  
When I look back up the redhead is gone, and Dahaniel is watching me, his eyebrows meeting over his glasses, arms crossed over his chest. "Ahhutuh?" I ask, angrily. His eyebrows jump up, then they settle down to a more natural position.  
  
"Hahak," he says, slowly. "Ooohar duhoo ingvahr rhy guhood."  
  
So now it's my turn to puzzle. It's only fair, I suppose, if he's running around trying to figure out how to communicate with me than I should at least try to return the favor. 'Hahak,' is the easy one, that's what he calls me, so he's addressing me.  
  
'Ooohar.' Let's see. 'Ooo-har.'  
  
"Ooohar?" I parrot. He rubs his eyes under his glasses. "Ooohar?" I repeat, louder. He looks up; he looks even more tired than I am.  
  
"Ooohar Hahak," he says, his voice angry. "Ahieham Dahaniel. Ooohar Hahak." He points at himself and then at me. Then he shakes his head and walks away, to the other side of the room, where the redhead is standing, watching me covertly over the top of a file.  
  
'Ooohar Hakak.' You are Hahak? Hahak. You are, duhoo ingvahr rhy guhood.  
  
'Duhoo.'  
  
This is going to take me a while.  
  
* * *  
  
After a while the Dahaniel and the redhead leave. It was a long time after that, but eventually I gave up on translating the sentence. He could have been telling me that I was scheduled as a human sacrifice. Just then I stopped caring. I was too tired to keep trying. Just staying awake was becoming work.  
  
A lot of work.  
  
As it turned out, too much work.  
  
Lights out, kids.  
  
* * *  
  
The dream came back.  
  
The field, the butterflies rising out of the grass. I raise my gun, I don't expect to actually hurt any great number of them, but the bullets should scare them off. But, before I can get off a shot they swarm me, surrounding me.  
  
One lands on the back of my hand, and I fall to the ground, the grass reaching over my head. They follow me down; landing on every available piece of exposes skin. Wherever they touch me bits of hot iron shoot through my skin. It was like being electrocuted. Low voltage at first, then higher and higher, until every one of my nerves screamed. And through it all, I couldn't make a sound, I was paralyzed, I couldn't call for help.  
  
Then, blackness.  
  
* * *  
  
"Colonel," Captain Carter says as she sits up, very fast. "Why didn't you get me up for guard duty?"  
  
I shrug. "You know me, Captain," I reply. "I probably just forgot."  
  
"That does not seem likely, ColonelO'Neill," Teal'c states from where he's sitting by the fire. Apparently he'd finished his kelnoreem. Ugh. Just the thought of Junior makes my skin crawl.  
  
"Yeah, Jack," the space monkey pipes up, sitting up and blinking as he slips on his glasses. "You're usually a stickler for following the guard duty roster."  
  
I shrug. "What does it matter?" I ask. "We're on a very boring, very uninhabited planet, surrounded by trees and glowing grass, and I'm the Supreme Commander of the Universe. So drop it."  
  
I push myself up off of the ground and start looking around. "Now, whose turn is it to cook breakfast?"  
  
* * *  
  
I struggle up from the bed in a panic, the sheets clinging to me. It seems to startle the blonde sitting in the chair next to me. She looks up from a clipboard, both eyebrows up. "Koronael?" she asks. I stare at her, blinking several times. She's the woman from my dream. Captain Carter.  
  
"Kahrtaer," I say. Then stop, catching her eyes with mine. "Dahaniel."  
  
She stares at me for almost an entire minute, her eyes wide. Then she nods, stands up, and walks out of the room. Please, God, let her have understood me.  
  
A/N: there, happy, you're starting to get a few answers. No, I will not make translating the gibberish easier for you. Yes, I am evil (Cackles evilly). Besides, Jack can't figure out what the heck they're saying, so why should you? Please read and review. Oh, and happy holidays! I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. Really. Really! I mean it. ( 


	5. Patience is a Virtue, Really!

Chapter Five:  
  
I have a headache. Not the drug slash alcohol slash torture induced type of headache either. Those, at least, are bearable. Nope. This is your typical, everyday, caused by a bunch of people gibbering type headache. Someone, out there in the universe, has made it their personal crusade to make my life a living hell.  
  
"Hahak, wuhahtez sit?" the nerd, the 'space-monkey' from my dream asks.  
  
"Koronael honaihail, haroo awallri hite?" some big bald white man asks in a weird accent. He wasn't in the dream.  
  
"Koronael, fahallowtha lahitewahith oor ryhs," the red head says, sticking her light back in my face. I bat it away, annoyed, and start puzzling through the sounds.  
  
Dahaniel, since he was the only one with a hope of understanding me, got to go first.  
  
'Hahak, wuhahtez sit?' he'd said. 'Jack, wuhat iz sit?' 'Jack, what is it?'  
  
Suddenly, everything clicked in my brain, and I tried to explain it to them. I tried a little too fast. "Hahiewuzhathattkedbuhaibuhutehrfulies."  
  
The words came out all at once. Everyone, including Daniel, wrinkled their foreheads and took a step back. They turned away and began conversing quietly. I waited impatiently, tapping my hand against the bed sheet, blowing my hair out of my eyes. I needed a haircut. Swell.  
  
I wait, and wait, and wait. And still they talk. And talk. And talk. Finally, I get bored. "Hay!" I all but shout. They turn to look at me. Daniel walks back up to my bedside and looks down at me intently. "Hie. Wuz. Hataked," I said, slowly.  
  
Daniel turns back to the group. Carter, the red head, the bald white dude, and Teal'c. "He waz attacked," he says, the words slowly filtering back in. Slightly clearer, at least to me.  
  
The big bald white guy shrugs. "Buy hoo?" he asks.  
  
Daniel turns to me, presumably to repeat the question, but I wave him away. "Buy buhuterflys," I answer. The result is about what I'd expected. Everyone except Daniel and Teal'c burst out laughing. I cover my eyes with my hands. Yep, someone up there definitely hates me. The great and powerful Col. Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill, taken out by a bunch of pretty bugs. I was never going to live this down.  
  
Never.  
  
Ever.  
  
I'm doomed. 


	6. Sweet

Chapter Six:  
  
Three Weeks Later  
  
It's a funny thing. You walk into the mess for the first time in slightly over a month. You can hear and, more importantly, understand every word spoken. All of it. And all you wish for is that everyone would shut up.  
  
You see, they'd prepared for my return. The mess hall was decorated, especially for me no doubt. Guess what with.  
  
Yep, you guessed right.  
  
Butterflies.  
  
Not real ones, thank God, these were all fake. It looked like someone had taken up a collection of the things, and then attacked the room with them in one hand and a hot glue gun in the other.  
  
According to Frazier, yes, my memory came back, the bugs had injected me with a type of micro toxin. She and Carter are practically ecstatic. They have a new puzzle to solve. The toxin, when mixed with my liberal alcoholic binge, had kind of short-circuited my brain. Specifically the part that had to do with language.  
  
Once they'd gone back to the planet of the neon grass, and obtained live specimens of the damned things, it had been short work to figure out a cure. My memory came back in a week. I'd spent the last two weeks doing speech therapy with the space-monkey.  
  
Wee-hah, was that fun.  
  
Suffice to say that there was much property damage to the infirmary. Mostly glass items which could be grabbed and thrown, and dents in the walls and cupboards which they'd hit. Surprisingly, I wasn't the only one lobbing around the glassware. Danny-boy can have a temper, especially if you know which buttons to push.  
  
Yes, I am evil.  
  
So, what do you do when you walk into a room full of your co-workers, and a bunch of fake butterflies, on your first day back at the work place? You smile, walk over to the counter, and grab a tray. After all, what more is there for you to do?  
  
* * *  
  
That night I had a nightmare. Guess who the stars were? Yep. Those damned butterflies. Only this time they didn't swarm me. They didn't attack.  
  
They started singing.  
  
That alone was creepy enough. Want to know what was even creepier? I actually understood them.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well, campers, welcome to P7N dash who gives a flying phooey," I say as I push myself up from the ground. This time around the 'gate had decided to spit us out. How lovely of it.  
  
"Oh, joy," Daniel replies, sitting up and pulling out his glasses.  
  
"Carter?"  
  
"I'm okay," she says, pushing herself up and shaking her head.  
  
"Where's Teal'c?"  
  
"I am here O'Neill."  
  
I turn to look at him, then push myself up to my feet. Our beloved jaffa is surrounded by a gaggle of spear wielding natives. "Sweet," I mutter, aiming my P90. "Daniel?"  
  
The archaeologist, ever the soul of caution regarding his own personal safety, steps forward, hands out, gun hanging uselessly from its straps. "We're peaceful explorers from Earth," he begins his spiel.  
  
One of the guys with spears, apparently elected spokesperson, shouts in a guttural voice "Stop, the outlanders will come no further!" He brandishes his spear in a threatening manner.  
  
Daniel wrinkles his brow, takes another step towards them. "We mean you no harm," he says, hands still out. They don't reply.  
  
"Uh, Daniel, why don't you come back here?" I ask, keeping my gun trained on the natives.  
  
He shakes his head, no. "I just need to talk with them, Jack," he says. "I think they're speaking some form of Latin, maybe crossed with Aramaic."  
  
Whoa. "Daniel, that guy with the spear, the pointy one? He just told you not to come any closer."  
  
Daniel freezes, and turns to face me. His eyes were wide with shock.  
  
Yep, someone out there REALLY hates me.  
  
A/N: Hee hee hee, ho ho ho. Suffer ye who read my writings! Please read and review. I'm wondering whether to write a resolution or just leave them hanging. ( Oh, yeah, HAPPY NEW YEAR! 


	7. Conspiracy Theory

Disclaimer: it's in the first chapter, but I figured I should renew it. None of them are mine, unless I created them, but all the ones I've created have minor to non-existent roles so, yeah.  
  
Enjoy Campers!  
  
Chapter Seven:  
  
Where was I? Oh, yeah, someone out there REALLY, really hates me. I swear, there has got to be a cosmic coalition for the tormenting of one Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill. Yeah, I'll bet they're all sitting around their table right now, rolling their dice and betting on how much they can screw up my life.  
  
It's times like these that I am grateful for gunpowder.  
  
"Daniel," I say, putting that edge of command in it. Finally, he stops standing with his back to the bad guys, forgive me 'armed locals,' and takes a couple steps back, putting him behind me. Where he belongs.  
  
If I'm really lucky he might remember what the P-90 attached to his chest is for. Better not to count on it, though. Don't get me wrong. Danny-boy is great at languages, and a good friend, but there are other people that I would rather drag into a fight. Even if my side has automatic weapons and the other side looks like they've just stepped out of an Auel novel.  
  
Yes, I read. Why do you find that so surprising?  
  
The natives are getting restless, watching us with beady black eyes. I'm betting they're suspicious. Of course, they can't understand what we're saying. At least I can understand them.  
  
Disturbing thought. I'm having too many of those these days. I shake it off and turn my attention back to the natives. They've started muttering among themselves.  
  
"-Outlanders-"  
  
"-know the Laws of the Gods."  
  
"Tell them to leave."  
  
The spokes-man turned back towards us, brandishing his spear in a menacing fashion. I kept my gun pointed at them.  
  
"The Outlanders must leave!" he declared, putting the same tone of command into his voice that I'd put into Daniel's name. Great, I was dealing with someone else used to being in control.  
  
"Sure," I said. A glance told me that Daniel was still staring at me. Carter had her eyes on the threat, but kept glancing at me. Teal'c was the only one of my team, other than myself, who had his attention totally on the other people pointing weapons at us. I was going to have to have a word with my team.  
  
"Let's go, boys and girls," I said. No one moved. "Daniel!"  
  
"Oh, yeah," Danny said, he sounded distracted, but he shuffled over to the DHD. He was muttering under his breath. Something about 'syntaxes.' Whatever.  
  
I waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
Nothing happened. No chevrons, no whoosh. No wormhole.  
  
"Uh, Jack?"  
  
I fought the urge to close my eyes. Mustn't take your attention from the enemy. Even for a split second. But, somehow, I got the feeling that I didn't want to hear what he was going to say next.  
  
"What, Daniel?" I asked through clenched teeth.  
  
"We've got a problem."  
  
"Nice of you to notice."  
  
"No," he drew the word out. "We've got another problem."  
  
"Care to enlighten us savages, then?"  
  
"Uhm, why don't you come over here?"  
  
I shook my head, but moved over to the DHD, keeping my eyes, and gun, on the natives. If any of them were any good with those spears then we could be having more problems than my sudden aptitude for linguistics. The kind of problems that bleed. A lot.  
  
When I got to the DHD I found out what the problem was. It wasn't a DHD. From a distance it looked the same. It probably, probably, served the exact same function. But up close. No. I couldn't even figure out where the chevron buttons were. The top of the thing was covered with small, round, blue rock thingies. No chevrons. No big circle in the middle to press. Just lots and lots of marble sized blue rocks.  
  
I have mentioned that someone out there hates me, right? 


	8. Pitch Black

Chapter Eight:  
  
"Oh, for cryin' out loud," I muttered, then turned back to the locals. They'd moved closer.  
  
Sam was examining the DHD-but-not-really-a-DHD device thingy with Daniel. That left Teal'c and me to deal with the locals. They'd moved closer. Not a good thing.  
  
"O'Neill?" Teal'c made it a question.  
  
"I'm working on it," I muttered to him, but more to myself.  
  
"You will leave NOW," the leader spat at me. "You will leave or our gods will take you!"  
  
I did not like the sound of that. "Gods? What gods?" I asked. He just glared at me. This universal understanding thing appears to be a one-way deal. Talk about useless.  
  
"Carter."  
  
"Sir, I can't even begin to figure this out," she said. I didn't like what I heard in her voice. Defeat. Bad. "It could take me days, weeks, maybe even months."  
  
She didn't say what we were all thinking. That maybe it would be impossible. "We don't have that kind of time, Major," I informed her.  
  
"I know, sir."  
  
"You will leave!" the guy with the spear was shouting now. He actually sounded afraid. Good if he was afraid of us. Bad if he was afraid of his gods. Guess what I was betting on.  
  
"We're trying," I spat at him. He stared at me blankly for a moment, and then turned to his compatriots.  
  
They started muttering. Again. Then the guy turned back to me. I liked the look in his eyes even less than I'd liked Carter's tone of voice. We were in trouble.  
  
"The Gods come," he said.  
  
Honestly, I could go for the rest of my life without ever hearing those three words again. Really.  
  
I didn't get the chance to respond. There was a blinding burst of light from above and below and everywhere else at once. Then there was nothing.  
  
* * *  
  
"Oh, for cryin' out loud," I muttered, sitting up. I tried to open my eyes. It was only then that I realized that my eyes were open. Bad sign. Either I was blind, or I was in a light tight, somewhere. Neither option was desirable. I honestly don't know which one I would have preferred.  
  
"Carter?" I asked. No answer. I closed my eyes, even though it made no difference, and listened. Nothing. I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my breath. I held my breath. Nothing.  
  
Swell.  
  
A/N: yep, that's all for now. Read, review, and beg for more. 


	9. The One in Charge

Chapter Nine:  
  
It is my personal belief that there are people in this world who get all of the breaks. They're good looking, nice, unusually lucky, and never have to deal with the darker side of life. On the other side of that coin, however, are the people who get all the breaks, literally. The people from crappy homes, with no luck, whom the powers that be seem to have a vendetta against.  
  
Guess which category I'm in.  
  
The cell they'd thrown me in was about five by seven feet. Not really comfortable, but not unlivable, if you liked penal chic. There was no door that I could find, which wasn't a good thing, and I couldn't reach the ceiling, if there was one. Two plus two equals exit in the ceiling. They'd probably dumped me down in here, which explained why I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of stampeding elephants.  
  
So, okay, the elephants are an exaggeration, but not by much.  
  
There are several things in this life that I do not like, at all. Guys, and gals, with snakes in their heads are currently up at the top of that list. Also on that list are bananas, any sort of imprisonment, people who point weapons at me and mine, and being helpless. Someone out there is working overtime, because here I am, helpless, at the mercy of goa'uld, and locked up in a pitch-black cell.  
  
This vendetta against me is getting a little ridiculous. The least whoever it is who's doing this could do is come on out and kill me, point blank. But, no, I get to suffer. Swell. Whoever the Hell you are you must really, really hate me, huh? What the heck did I ever do to you?  
  
Don't answer that, please.  
  
Okay, focus. I need to get out of this cell. I need to find my team. I need to get us to the Stargate. I need to get us through the Stargate and back home. All in order. Did I leave anything out? God, I hope not, because if I did I'm not going to know until the last minute. As usual.  
  
Calm down, O'Neill, this is what you do. This is what you've been trained for. This talking to yourself is starting to sound an awful lot like psychosis. Great, swell, let's deal with my possible insanity at another time, okay?  
  
* * *  
  
I couldn't get out of the cell. The walls are made of some sort of featureless metal. No purchase. They're just far enough that I can't wedge my way up to the top. Jumping doesn't get me anywhere close, from what I can tell. It's like there's nothing up there, just four walls reaching out, forever. Which is impossible, I know, but being locked up in the darkness does little for my rational state of mind. As you can see.  
  
I'd just sat back down, back to the wall, eyes closed (though it made no difference), when the light came back. It was like being wrapped in solid clouds. Only instead of warm and fluffy, they were cold and stiff.  
  
I fell, maybe about a foot, and stumbled, landing on my bad knee, of course. I stayed there, on the floor, until the fireworks display in my head toned itself down and I could see again. What did I see? A floor. A rather ordinary floor at that, as far as would-be-god décor goes. Just a plain, featureless, unadorned gray stone floor. At least, I think it was stone; it looked like stone, at any rate.  
  
The rest of the room was empty, which was the first thing that I noticed as I looked up. No one else, just us guinea pig colonel's. Yup. Military training at it's finest. Locate and neutralize opponents, secure area, etc. The rest of the room was as unremarkable, and bare, as the floor. Walls made out of the same stuff as the floor. No doors, but there was a ceiling this time. At least, I could see what looked like a ceiling this time. Same gray stuff as the floors and walls.  
  
There were exactly three pieces of furniture in the room. A table and two chairs. They were made out of that gray stuff too, in fact they looked like they'd grown right out of the floor, right in the middle of the floor. Well, maybe they'd been carved out, or whatever. I am not, nor have I ever been, a mason. The closest I've ever come was laying a brick patio for Sarah one summer. We're not going to talk about that.  
  
I shook my head, and slowly stood up. God types don't usually like it when we mere mortals stand in their presence, this one might expect me to stay kneeling till Kingdom Come. I had no intention of doing that, but if I was going to get hit, I'd prefer to be closer to the ground, thank you very much.  
  
Nothing happened. I was standing all the way up, and nothing changed. Nothing hit me. No lights, no magically appearing guards, no nothing. I could live with nothing, although this room was a little too bland, even for my military-brainwashed tastes.  
  
I turned around, slowly, I was well and truly alone in the room. This was just getting weirder by the minute. What the heck was going on? Usually by this time whichever goa'uld that had caught us would be either torturing or gloating. Most probably both. The silent treatment was worse. I like to know what I'm up against. All of this nothingness was beginning to push my fear button. Few things push that button like not knowing what I was up against.  
  
I flopped into the chair, plopping my feet up on the table. If I had to wait, I might as well be comfortable.  
  
* * *  
  
The lights went out. When they came back on there were three people in the room whom I was very glad to see. Carter was standing in the corner, back to the wall, hands up in defensive positions. Daniel was seated, glasses half off his face. Teal'c was on the table, sitting with his legs crossed.  
  
I stared up at the big Jaffa. "Teal'c, buddy!" I exclaimed. Teal'c smiled and nodded.  
  
"It is good to see you well, O'Neill," he said.  
  
"Swell, but do you think you can get off of my feet?"  
  
One of Teal'c's eyebrows shot up, but he did as I requested, standing beside the table. I pulled my feet down and endeavored to not make a pain face. I don't think I succeeded. When I looked back up Carter was behind Daniel and the anthropologist had put his glasses back on.  
  
"Everyone okay?" I asked.  
  
"I am well, O'Neill," Teal'c replied.  
  
"Yeah, I uh, guess so," Daniel replied, even less enthused than the Jaffa. Uh-oh.  
  
"Carter?" I asked, turning to my 2IC. She was wearing the military mask. The one that we all wear when we're not going to talk about it.  
  
"I'm fine, sir," she said. I waited. You don't go into defensive positions because you feel 'fine.'  
  
"Anyone had any contact with our hosts?" I asked, when it became apparent that she wasn't going to talk.  
  
"Yeah, kind of," Daniel said.  
  
One of my eyebrows shot up. "Kind of?"  
  
"One of them came to talk to me, but, uh, I couldn't understand them." That last sounded almost sheepish. Jeesh, the space-monkey's ego has been crushed.  
  
I turned to Teal'c. "I have had no interaction with those who have abducted us, Colonel O'Neill," he answered.  
  
"Carter?" I asked, turning back to her. She stood there, silent, and we all stared at her, silent.  
  
"What happened, Sam?" Daniel asked, voice soft. She looked down at him, and almost smiled, but only almost.  
  
"One of them just, appeared in my cell," she said.  
  
"Are you hurt?" that was me, my voice more businesslike than I wished it would be, but I was the CO, and she was my second. I could be concerned when all of our well-beings were insured.  
  
"No, sir. The light, just," she gestured, searching for a word. "I was removed from the cell before anything happened, sir," she finally answered.  
  
I nodded, once, brusquely. Damn, she looked spooked, even through the military training. Double damn.  
  
"Does anyone have even the slightest clue as to what's going on?" I asked. No one answered, but Sam, Carter, ducked her head. "Carter?" I asked, making her last name a question.  
  
"I can't be sure, sir, but I don't think they're goa'uld. At least, the one who was in my cell wasn't, sir," she said, keeping her head down. She was really piling on the 'sirs.' Triple damn.  
  
Calm down and stop being human, O'Neill. You need to get everyone home alive, first. Once you're all safe, then you can worry about emotional well-being.  
  
There are days when it's good to be the one in charge. Then there are days like today, when it just plain sucks. 


	10. Prayers

Chapter Ten:  
  
God, if you can hear me, get my people out of here alive. Please. And, if you can spare the extra time, make sure they end up all right. Please.  
  
"So, what. We're being held prisoner by an unknown person or persons, in an unknown location. We don't know why we're here, and we don't know how to get home. That about it?" I asked, looking around at my team.  
  
"You forgot that, even if we do escape, we don't know how to use the DHD," Sam piped up.  
  
"Also that the beings who hold us are claiming to be gods," Teal'c added.  
  
"I don't know, the one who was trying to talk to me didn't act like she thought of herself as a god," Daniel said.  
  
I turned to look at him. "She?" The anthropologist blushed.  
  
"Whoever they are, they're human," Sam, Carter (Carter Carter Carter!), said. "Or, at least, they look human," she amended.  
  
Daniel agreed with a nod of his head. He had his arms wrapped over his chest, chin down. The blush had disappeared. I give you ten to one odds that he was trying to figure out whatever language his visitor had spoken.  
  
"Yo, Danny, what you thinking about?" I asked, reaching across the table and tapping the surface right in front of his eyes.  
  
Daniel's head shot up, eyes wide. "Wh-what?" he asked, shaking his head a little.  
  
"What are you thinking about," I said, slowly.  
  
He looked down, again. "Just replaying my conversation with Anayai," he muttered.  
  
"Anayai?"  
  
"The woman who came to try and talk to me."  
  
"Oh," I said, sitting back. He blushed. Again. This was too easy. She was either a babe, or had thrown herself unabashedly at his feet, or both. That's my Danny, universal ladies man. Even the aliens can't get enough of him. Wish I had as much luck with the fish.  
  
* * *  
  
I don't know how much later it was, but all of the sudden the lights went off again. This time, when they came back, there was food on the table. Although, I use the word 'food' loosely. It actually looked like someone had taken all of our MRE's and melted their contents together. The four of us exchanged similar looks. The damned things were hard enough to eat on their own. This was pushing it.  
  
I forced a smile onto my face and forced my nose to stop working. It only partially worked. I reached out, grabbed a semi-solid lump that appeared to have once been a roll, and shoved half of it in my mouth. Gotta keep that strength up, after all.  
  
The maybe-roll tasted like, chicken, and spaghetti sauce. Not a combination that I would have chosen on my own, but survivable. Well, that was what I told myself. The others watched me, closely, for a minute. When it became apparent that I wasn't going to keel over from food poisoning they all grabbed, something, from the concoction and took their own timid bites.  
  
If my face looked anything like theirs as they ate whatever they'd grabbed then my 'roll' had tasted even worse than I'd allowed myself to half believe.  
  
Ick.  
  
* * *  
  
I was half dozing, listening to Carter spout techno-babble at the speed of light, when the lights went out, again. Silence.  
  
When the lights came back up I was alone. The 'food' was gone, and so was my team. "Shit," I muttered, completely awake now. Dear God, please, let me get my team out of this.  
  
I pushed myself away from the table, standing. I was alone again. I didn't know where my team was. I didn't know where I was. Shit seemed about the right speed.  
  
"Please, be seated," a voice came from behind me. I spun around to face the table again. There was a kid leaning against the chair opposite mine, the one Daniel had been in. "Please, be seated," she said, again.  
  
I sat down.  
  
The girl took the other seat, her face impassive, blank. And she was a girl, make no mistake of that. If she was over twenty I would eat Carter's captain's bars, she doesn't need them anymore anyways.  
  
"Are you Anayai?" I asked, trying to make myself comfortable under that gaze. It was impossible. Those eyes did not belong in that kid's face. They belonged in the face of someone who'd seen and done things that there's no coming back from. I'd seen those eyes in the mirror on more than one occasion.  
  
She snorted. "I am not Anayai, the one who came to your comrade," she answered.  
  
"Then who the hell are you?"  
  
Her brows furrowed together, her mouth pressed into a thin line. "I do not understand the language you speak," she finally said.  
  
"Swell."  
  
"Put your hand on the table," she said. Her voice sounded curious, almost. I didn't know if I wanted her to be curious.  
  
I put my hand on the table. "Interesting, can you understand me?" she asked. I met her eyes. "If you can understand me, raise your hand," she said.  
  
I raised my hand.  
  
"Do you speak my language?" she asked. I let my hand fall back to the table. "If you speak my language raise your hand."  
  
My hand stayed on the table.  
  
"Interesting," she said again, pushing herself to her feet and pacing. "You understand my words, yet you do not speak our language." She kept muttering to herself, then turned back to face me.  
  
"You will return to your cell now," she said.  
  
Light. Again. Lots and lots of light.  
  
Explode to black.  
  
  
  
A/N: review, review, review. PLEASE! Yes, I'm needy, but, that's me. Besides, I'm working on so many things that I need help to keep it all straight. See ya soon campers. 


	11. Question and Answer

Chapter Eleven:  
  
Oka-ay, this dropping me God-knows-how-far down into the pitch black of my cell is not helping me to form a good opinion of my hosts. Hosts, ugh, bad, bad, bad choice of words O'Neill. Really. Also, this whole running commentary on anything and everything going on, better not tell anyone about it, sounds too much like having voices in your head.  
  
So?  
  
So, so, do you want a section 8? Because, if that's what ya really really want then I'm sure that we could do something about that, all I would have to do is open my mouth and start telling the truth to Mackenzie. Three minutes into the session he'd be calling for the orderlies and the big sharp needles. God, I hate needles.  
  
Focus, O'Neill, you can have an internal rant once everyone's home, safe, and sane. Everyone else. That is. Right. Whatever.  
  
Where am I? Back in my cell, my boring cell. These people really don't know how to decorate. I mean, come on, it's either monochromatic gray and stationary furniture or pitch-dark pits. I don't like the dark, and I don't like being locked up, and how long have I been in here anyways? I can't remember. They took my watch, so I don't know either. Damn, this is starting to get annoying. I think I'm going to pace.  
  
* * *  
  
Yup, got tired of the pacing. This means that my feet started to get sore so I figured that it would be tactically wise to stop acting like an idiot and conserve my energy and make sure that when the opportunity came I was capable of running away. Running away. That would be really nice, except I don't know where I am, or how to get home, or how to ask the freakin' 'gods' what they want, or even how to use the freaking DHD!  
  
Yes, I am annoyed. I also want a drink. A drink would be nice; then again, it probably wouldn't do to get smashed while being held captive by would-be gods. Hammond would probably get upset about that. Hell, he got upset when everyone but Teal'c came back buzzed after a very nice meet and greet with the local population of P9C-443. Regardless of popular opinion I can actually remember the planet addresses, I don't really have a choice. Do the words 'paperwork' and 'triplicate' mean anything to you? Yeah, that's what I thought.  
  
You don't exactly get to be a colonel in the USAF by being an idiot. Not that I'm saying that I'm particularly smart, I'm not even in the same dimension as Carter and Daniel, sheesh, but anyone who actually falls for my clueless act has got to be an idiot, there is no other explanation. I mean, come on, Hammond figured me out after ten minutes! Of course, Hammond is a General, as such he is also smarter than me.  
  
I don't know, maybe the reason it's so easy for everyone to buy into the dummy act is that fact that I'm surrounded by geniuses. Compare and contrast and all that, but I would LOVE to see Daniel trying to figure out a tactical map in time to get everyone home safely.  
  
WAIT, NO, SKRATCH THAT! That would be a very bad idea and I would appreciate it, God, if you didn't take it literally. I'm just going a little wonky, here in the dark, and my brain is doing things it shouldn't be doing, like thinking.  
  
Hmm, maybe I should start singing.  
  
* * *  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Okay, now that drop was more than a couple of inches, I know this because I had time to get my shoulder in the way before I hit the ground. Damn. That. Hurts.  
  
"Are you alright?" asks a familiar voice. She doesn't sound very concerned.  
  
"What the hell does it look like?" I ask, rolling up onto my hands and knees, then pushing myself upright. I'm back in the monochromatic room. The not- Anayai is staring at me from where she's sitting at the table.  
  
"Please, have a seat," she says, gesturing towards the empty chair across from her.  
  
"Why am I here?" I asked.  
  
Her brows come together. "We still do not understand your language, but you understand ours. But you cannot speak our language," she started.  
  
"That's because you're speaking ENGLISH!" I shout at her, plopping into the empty chair like a contrary schoolboy.  
  
"Your species intrigues us, and you are the only one capable of understanding us. As such you are the only one capable of answering our questions."  
  
"Where's my team?" I ask, yeah, I really do have a one-track mind. Sometimes.  
  
"I don't understand," she says. I groan, throw my hands in the air, and then get an idea. I point to the patch on the sleeve of my jacket. Apparently she gets the message.  
  
"Your companions are safe. Wentai has been punished for his treatment of the female."  
  
Treatment? What treatment, what the hell have you done to Sam!?  
  
She seems to read the homicidal thoughts on my face because she says, really fast. "No harm has come to her, we removed her from her cell before Wentai could do any harm." Then she gets a glint in her eye that I don't like. I don't like it at all. "However, if you would not cooperate then I cannot guarantee her continued safety, or the continued safety of any of your companions."  
  
Shit, fuck, damn.  
  
"What do you want to know?" I ask. She doesn't understand me.  
  
"As I said I cannot understand the language which you speak. I will ask you questions, you will answer by nodding for yes and shaking your head for no."  
  
Some gestures are universal. I wonder if 'yes' and 'no' aren't the only ones we share. Hmm, yeah, I might be tempted to, but with my luck she'd understand it and drop me on my head next time. Damn.  
  
"You arrived on Palnedrey through the Stargate?" she asks.  
  
Answering that couldn't hurt. I nod.  
  
"You came to Palnedrey to take slaves or supplies?"  
  
I shake my head, vehemently.  
  
"You came to Palnedrey as a scouting party for a larger force?"  
  
Again, I shake my head.  
  
"You came to Palnedrey seeking the powers of the gods."  
  
Uhm, well, we came seeking technology to fight the goa'uld, if that's what you mean, but you're no more a god than I'm a pink rabbit. I shake my head.  
  
"You came to Palnedrey to take power and install yourselves as rulers."  
  
Again, shaking the head here. Jesus, girl, you really don't think much of outlanders around here, huh? Not that I can blame you, really, what with goa'uld and all of the other nasties floating around the universe, but can't ya come up with a question that doesn't include us being nasty? Huh?  
  
"Did you know of the Yomshallur when you came to Palnedrey?"  
  
Yomshall-whatsit? I guess that that's just something that isn't gonna be translated. Wonder if it's their word for themselves? Hmm, she's staring at me. Well, seeing that I don't know what a Yomshallur is, I suppose that I should shake my head, but what if I do know what it is, it's just not translating. I shrug.  
  
"That is not an answer. Did you know of the Yomshallur when you came to Palnedrey?"  
  
Again, I shrug. She sounds a little pissed.  
  
"Did you know of the Yomshallur when you came to Palnedrey!?" Okay, now she sounds a LOT pissed. Uh-oh, O'Neill, you've really done it this time. But, in for a penny.  
  
I shrug.  
  
She glares at me for maybe a minute, and then the light comes back. Only this time it's not white, it's red. And it hurts like a son of a bitch.  
  
* * *  
  
After a minute, or an hour, or a decade, the light goes away, and I'm left lying on the floor, staring up at this bitch.  
  
"Did you know of the Yomshallur when you came to Palnedrey?" she asks, voice low and quiet, almost gentle. She doesn't look like she regrets what just happened though. In fact, she looks like she'd have no problem doing it again. Oh, joy.  
  
"Fuck you, bitch," I spit in her face. She doesn't understand the words, but I'm sure that she understands the tone, because a moment later the light comes back. Red light, pain like being burned alive from the inside out. All over. Doesn't stop.  
  
Then it changes to white, and I fall, a long ways, and then I hit the floor.  
  
Explode to black.  
  
A/N: yay! I finally got another installment up. Hooray. I am really sorry about leaving you guys hanging for so long but RL just had to burst onto the scene, along with my habit of starting twenty things at the same time. Urgh. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, please, please, PLEASE REVIEW. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible. 


	12. In the red

Disclaimer: not mine, never have been, never will be, and I'll thank you not to sue me because I don't have any money for you to take. Students live in the negative end of the financial spectrum, pals. If you don't sue me then I'll put everyone back where I found them, if you do sue me then I refuse to be held accountable for the things my muses can and will do to our lovely little SG-1.  
  
A/N: this is a different perspective, hope y'all enjoy. Sorry about the tardiness, believe me, the snarky e-mails motivated me. Finally. Ya just need to send more of them!  
  
Chapter Twelve:  
  
Okay, um, ow. That wasn't very pleasant. Of course, being dropped on your ass in a pitch-black pit rarely is. That's going to bruise, and isn't Janet just going to have to say something about it. I swear, la petit Napoleon lives to cause me grief and pain, specifically grief and pain in the derriere. The woman has no mercy, and more knowledge of my prostate than is healthy. Do the words cold and lube mean anything to you?  
  
If I were the praying sort then I suppose that I would be praying. But I'm not the praying sort so I don't have that avenue of diversion open to me. Please let Jack be okay. This is like a nightmare that's never going to end. But I know that it has to end. It has to end, doesn't it? I mean, we've gotten out of every other scrape relatively unscathed. Hell, we've even died. Granted, we have the Nox to thank for our subsequent mass impersonation of Lazarus but, what the hell am I doing? I'm rambling. Think!  
  
There has got to be a way to get through to these people. There has to be a way to communicate! Why did it have to be Jack who got attacked by the butterflies? I take back my earlier statement. There is a God, and whoever the hell they are they have a damned sickening sense of humor and a penchant for abusing poor unsuspecting anthropologists. Damn it!  
  
I should be with Jack. I should be where I can do some good, which would be where there are people to communicate with. At the very least I should be with Sam. She looked horrible in that room. Something spooked her. Something bad. Almost nothing spooks my Sam. Whatever it was I should be with her right now, protecting her from it. Instead I'm pacing around this damn annoying pit, in the dark, thinking about things which make no sense and have even less baring on the situation.  
  
In addition to that I think I'm getting sick. That 'food,' and I use the term sparingly, is not sitting well with me. MRE's are inedible all on their own. I hadn't thought that there was a way to make them any less appealing. I was wrong. Yet another cosmic joke played on yours truly. Damn it!  
  
You'd think that, as a linguist, I would have a whole string of explicatives on hand for these sorts of situations. Not true. I'm pissed, and when I'm pissed I tend to revert to one of two languages, Arabic and English, my first and second languages, respectively. Damn it! I should be doing something, some how. Somewhere other than this cell!  
  
"Let me the hell out of here!" I shout at the darkness. The only way that I know I've spoken are the echoes coming back to me.  
  
* * *  
  
I hate the dark. I hate it with a vengeance and a passion and all that I'm worth. Sam knows it, so do Jack and Teal'c. Jack especially, he's been on the receiving end of more of my nightmares than all but one other person in the universe, Shau're. I don't know how he puts up with sharing a tent with me when I'm like that. I asked him once. He told me that he was used to nightmares.  
  
I know that he has them, and lots of them, but only because I've spent so many nights in the same tent as him. I lived in his house for a month before I realized that he had at least one doozy a week. Jack is very good at hiding things he doesn't want anyone else to know, and he doesn't want people to know about his nightmares. He's a light sleeper. He's somehow trained himself to wake himself up when he needs to. Maybe I should have him teach me that trick when we get out of here. It would come in handy. Not to mention that it would save him getting hit when he has to wake me up in the middle of the night because I'm trying to beat him to death in my sleep.  
  
I don't even want to know how many of my secrets that man knows. He's never prodded me to talk about any of them, though, and he's never told anyone else. I think that he's afraid that if he pries into my nightmares I'll have the right to pry into his. Can't blame him, really. That's what I'm afraid of. Right now I really don't want to go to sleep. There's no one here to watch my back. No one to wake me up before the shit hits the fan. No one but me and the dark and whoever is watching me, however they're watching me. I flick them off, just to make myself feel better, then find a corner and sit on the floor. Might as well conserve my energy, as Jack would say.  
  
* * *  
  
"You mother fucking BITCH!" I shout at her as my eyes clear and I can see what's lying on the floor at her feet. She doesn't look very impressed.  
  
"Nat teyyah soma solorel neigh," she says. I just blink at her and walk towards Jack.  
  
I don't want to roll him over. I don't want to see his lifeless eyes. I don't want to know that he's dead. I can't do it, so what are my feet doing moving towards him. What are my hands doing reaching out and rolling him over?  
  
I've lost too damn many people in my life. I don't want to find out that I've just lost my best friend. The man who's saved my life more times than I can count. I don't want to know. But I'm about to. 


	13. Home again Home again

A/N: alright campers. Let's see if I can get things moving and finish this monster, shall we. To anyone and everyone who's bothered to read this thing, thanks. To every single one of you who have e-mailed me to tell me to get my ass in gear, I grovel before you, thank you for your impatience and general bitchiness.  
  
Well then, on with the show, as they say.  
  
(We're back to Jack's perspective now, fyi)  
  
Chapter Thirteen:  
  
"Dammit Jack, don't you dare die on me you selfish bastard. Don't you fucking DARE die on me, do you hear me?"  
  
Someone is yelling at me. Someone with Daniel's voice. Stopitalready! You're giving me a headache, Spacemonkey, and I don't need another one. I've already got a monster going, right behind my eyes. Oy. Speaking of eyes, why is it so dark? Oh, that would be because mine are closed. I blink them open and wince at the light. Too much light.  
  
"Jack!" Daniel yells.  
  
Jesus Daniel, I'm not deaf! I blink my eyes open again, slower this time, and try to sit up. I succeed in opening my eyes. I fail miserably in sitting up. Daniel helps. Between the two of us we manage to get me sitting and resting my head on my knees.  
  
It hurts. Not just my head, either. But Daniel doesn't need to know about it, so suck it up O'Neill. "Daniel, what the hell is going on?" I ask without looking up.  
  
"I don't know, Jack. One minute I was sitting in the dark and the next I was here and youwereonthegroundandIthoughtyouweredead."  
  
Well, that was a mouthful. "I'm fine, Daniel." Yeah, right O'Neill. You sure don't sound it.  
  
Shut up you.  
  
When I finally manage to look up again I see the bitch queen from hell. She's still here. Here is still a monochromatic gray room. Whoopee. Where is the rest of my team? "Carter, Teal'c?" I ask Daniel.  
  
"I don't know, I haven't seen them since they, uh, sent me back to my cell."  
  
Damnit! I want my team and I want them now!  
  
"Did you know of the Yomshallur when you came to Palnedrey?" the bitch queen speaks. The same damn question.  
  
"I don't know what the hell a Yomshallur is you bitch!" I scream at her from the floor. It's not easy to look pissed off and threatening when you're sitting on the floor hugging your knees like a little kid, but I think that I managed it. She just took a step backwards; something crossed her blank mask of a face. Some sort of emotion. But I'll be damned if I could tell you what it was.  
  
Daniel's looking at me like I've lost it. I probably have. Screw it.  
  
"If you do not answer the question then I will be forced to cause discomfort to your companion," she says, voice empty and dead.  
  
'Discomfort?' No way bitch. NO WAY IN HELL ARE YOU GETTING YOUR PAWS ON ONE OF MY KIDS! You are not going to torture any member of my team, not as long as I've got blood and a pulse.  
  
"Did you know of the Yomshallur when you came to Palnedrey?" she asks again.  
  
"Daniel, help me up," I say, looking into his eyes. He looks worried. Poor kid, he should be worried, he just doesn't understand how much yet.  
  
Daniel helps me up, and I take two steps towards her, invading the hell out of her personal space.  
  
"No," I say, very slowly, and shake my head.  
  
She looks into my eyes, her own as empty as a dolls. It was like looking into two tiny mirrors, I could see more of my reflection in them than I could see of her personality. She's acting like a freaking robot. For all I know she is a robot. God I hope so. That any human being so young could be so without humanity scares me. Well and truly scares me.  
  
She does nothing. Not a damn thing. But there's this flash of light. The pain in my body washes up and over me and I can't fight it. It's like that damned red light, only multiply that. Exponentially.  
  
Explode to black.  
  
* * *  
  
Sound comes back first, in bits and pieces and waves, sometimes loud as a freight train, sometimes like distant whispers.  
  
'He's in shock.'  
  
'Jesus, we're losing him!'  
  
'Clear.'  
  
'Jack!'  
  
'Col. O'Neill, can you hear me sir?'  
  
'Come on, Jack, you've got to wake up.'  
  
There were lots like the last. Voices that I knew I should know drifting through my thoughts. Begging me to wake up. Begging me to come back to them. I didn't want to come back. I knew, somehow, that if I did then something bad would happen. Something that I didn't want would happen.  
  
Eventually other sensations started to filter in. Most of it was pain, like all of my nerve endings were on fire, like I was being burned alive. But, with the pain came other things. The touch of a cool clothe on my forehead. Hands gripping mine.  
  
I finally opened my eyes to find Janet brushing my hair off of my forehead. Damn, she looked tired. When I opened my eyes here eyebrows did a double impersonation of Teal'c, climbing towards her hairline. She made a sound that I would call an 'eep,' but it does not do one any good to piss of your CMO. As far as a military man is concerned the CMO is God, and your ass literally belongs to them. So, it wasn't an eep. Really.  
  
Who the hell am I kidding? It was an eep.  
  
It wasn't until I tried to say something that I noticed the tube down my throat. There was a tube down my throat. I HATE it when she does that.  
  
"Don't try to talk yet, Colonel," she says.  
  
Yeah, right, like I can.  
  
* * *  
  
"So," I say, staring with what I'm sure is a skeptical look at Daniel, "you're telling me that they just, let us go?"  
  
"Uhm, yeah," he says, shrugging.  
  
"And you have no idea why?"  
  
He frowns at me. "You were the one that understood them," he points out. "If anyone of us were going to have an idea I'd think that it'd be you."  
  
Well, I can't really argue with that.  
  
We're in the briefing room, SG-1, Hammond, and Napoleon. Oops, I mean Janet. To say that the General was put out at the state in which we were returned is putting it mildly. As Daniel told it he'd gone ape shit. Well, actually Daniel said that he'd gone 'Aztec,' whatever the hell he'd meant by that.  
  
Apparently the wanna be gods transported us back to the planet after I answered their question. Just like that. It must have been a shock to my overstressed system because, according to my team, as soon as we rematerialized I dropped. As in dropped dead. My heart stopped beating.  
  
Carter started CPR, they dragged my sorry ass back through the 'gate. The aliens were nice enough to dial home for us. Janet got my heart started again. My heart stopped beating again.  
  
Apparently I died a grand total of four times. Janet wants to know what the hell they did to me. I'm not talking. So far she's been nice, but eventually she'll get pissed and send me to Mackenzie. That's okay; I can talk that loony toon in circles.  
  
Hammond dismisses us and puts us on three days stand down. Joy to the world. I think I'll go fishing.  
  
Teal'c heads off to his quarters to get in some quality kel'no'reem time. Daniel heads to his office of ooh and ahh over some rocks. Carter heads to her lab to play with a doohickey.  
  
I follow Carter, catching up to her in the elevator. I watch her for a second. She looks, fragile, almost. I'm not used to seeing my 2IC looking vulnerable. I don't like it.  
  
"Carter?" I ask.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Are you okay?" She opens her mouth, I assume to say something like 'fine,' but I give her the look. She closes her mouth, then her eyes. When she opens them she looks determined.  
  
"I will be, sir," she says, smiling a little. I smile back, and her smile gets better. That's my major!  
  
The doors open on her floor. "Good bye, sir," she says.  
  
"'Bye Carter," I reply, and then hold out my hand to keep the doors open. "If you need me, I'm here," I say. A look passes over her face, I don't know of what, nothing bad, I'm sure of that.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she says, then she turns and walks away.  
  
I get no respect.  
  
I think I hear some little scaled fellows crying out for their doom. 


	14. The end, for real

A/N: Yes, I know that I promised that that last one would be the last one, but I thought that we needed just a tad bit more closure, so, here we are, a quickie for just that purpose. Oy.  
  
Epilogue: ONE MONTH LATER  
  
Okay, I know that Jacob is on our side; it's the snake that I'm not so sure of. Yeah, really not sure of. As in I don't like it and I don't want it anywhere near me. For that matter, I don't want any snake near me. Especially nymphomaniac Barbie snakes like you Anise. So just stay on your side of the table and keep asking your goddamned questions.  
  
"Colonel, are you alright?" the snake in the babe asks. God, I HATE that.  
  
"Yeah, just fine and dandy," I reply.  
  
"Ahem," Jacob cuts in, thank you so much sir. "Jack, just tell us as much as you can remember about these aliens," he asks.  
  
I shrug. "They abducted us. They figured out that I could understand them- "  
  
"We are already aware of this, Colonel," the snake breaks in. Looks can't kill, but hands can, and you, babe, are about this freaking far from finding out just how painful I can make it.  
  
"They wanted to know why we were there. They didn't seem to have a very high opinion of our motivations."  
  
Jacob nods.  
  
Why am I sitting in the briefing room with my team on one side of the table and two snakes on the other? Simple, the tok'ra got wind of what went down on P7N-336. The local non-goa'uld wanna be gods caught their attention. They aren't telling us why they're so interested in those bastards, but boy are they interested. I have mentioned that someone out there hates my guts, haven't I?  
  
"Jack," Jacob says, "what we're trying to ask is if you noticed anything in particular, if there was anything that they seemed particularly interested in."  
  
Hmm, well, if you put it that way. "The bi- ahem. The girl kept asking if we 'knew of the yomshallur when we came to palnedrey.'"  
  
Both snakes hiss at me. I and everyone on my side of the table surreptitiously push our chairs back about two inches. Everyone but Teal'c, but he's got a snake in his belly, so he doesn't count.  
  
"I take it that you two have some idea of what she was going on about?" I ask. They exchange a look.  
  
Oh, no, no you don't. Those bastards tortured me and threatened to torture my team. Not to mention that they almost sent Carter over the edge. The major cannot hold her liquor. All Daniel and I had to do was get her drunk enough and she told us the whole story. If I ever get my hands on this guy killing him is going to be the last thing on my mind, I assure you.  
  
I want to know what the hell they know. I put the demand in my eyes, and my face. Anise is oblivious, Jacob gets it. He sighs.  
  
"The Yomshallur are an ancient race of," he stops, looks like he's searching for a word. "I suppose 'shape shifters' is the best term."  
  
One of my eyebrows goes up. I let it, but remain silent.  
  
"Supposedly they were wiped out by the goa'uld. Several million years ago."  
  
"Why?" Daniel asks, he sounds genuinely curious. Me personally, I don't give a damn. I'm just sorry that the snakes didn't finish what they started.  
  
"The goa'uld feared them," that's Anise, the snake, whoever the hell she is. She stares at the tabletop. "According to legend the Yomshallur possessed the power to kill a goa'uld without damaging the host, in addition to other abilities."  
  
Okay, so maybe they weren't all that bad, but they're still not on my Christmas list. Daniel looks stricken. I don't blame him.  
  
The very people who could have saved his wife. We had them, and now they're gone. Disappeared. Returning to the planet had resulted in, well, nothing. Even the former human inhabitants were gone.  
  
Oh, well, at least these 'gods' take care of their subjects. I assume. I hope. Damnit.  
  
They're gone, and there's nothing that we can do now. Far as I'm concerned good damned riddance.  
  
"What other abilities?" Carter asks, damn, she sounds curious too.  
  
"It is said that they could take any shape, could change their molecular structure at will. It is also rumored that they were the creators of the stargates."  
  
"What?!" Daniel and Sam exclaim at once, both leaning over the table and towards the snakes.  
  
* * *  
  
Things basically settled back down to normal, whatever normal is when you go through wormholes on a daily basis. I told everyone that whatever the butterflies had done to me was gone, and it is. I only know the languages that I can speak anymore. Daniel's disappointed, I'm relieved.  
  
The tok'ra hypothesized that the Yomshallur undid it. Jacob, or would that be Selmak, seems to think that the butterflies might have had more to do with the Yomshallur than coincidence. They'll never know. The butterflies are gone.  
  
The nightmares aren't. Sometimes they're swarming me, and the pain is unbearable. Sometimes they're singing, and that's almost worse. Sometimes I understand them, but I never remember what they say when I wake up. Silently.  
  
My nightmares are my own, and I'll keep them to myself.  
  
The End.  
A/N: So, GIVE ME RESPONSES! I WANT FEEDBACK! Love it, hate it, just relieved that I finally finished it? Tell me, now. What the heck are you waiting for? Thanks to anyone who encouraged me to toe the line and beat my muses into working for cookies and chai. Thanks to anyone who's read this. Thanks to my muses and my computer. Uhm, thanks to all the writers that I've been reading while I've been procrastinating. NOW GIVE ME FEEDBACK. 


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